


you follow me everywhere that i go

by anacruses



Category: Les Misérables - All Media Types
Genre: Fluff and Angst, M/M, Nightmares, Sleeping Together
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-06-06
Updated: 2013-08-02
Packaged: 2017-12-14 02:43:34
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 2,152
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/831794
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/anacruses/pseuds/anacruses
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>a series of drabbles revolving around sleep/nightmares/etc.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> mostly terrible fluff, shameless as always and with more teen suicide lyrics as a title.  
> when i say fluff, i mean fluff. like, so fluffy it's ooc. so fluffy it hurts.

The first time they spend the night together, Valjean barely sleeps. His heart races, his mind turns, he tries to keep touching Javert at all times.

  
Javert, for his part, is mostly silent.

  
They lie together awkwardly, Valjean staring at and tracing the contours of Javert's broad shoulders in the moonlight. Javert turns to face him: "You're uncommonly quiet."

  
Valjean half-shrugs. He reaches over and cups Javert's chin in his hand; when Javert doesn't shy away, he kisses the bridge of his nose, an unexpectedly intimate gesture.

  
Javert smiles wearily and shakes his head. "You've ruined me, Jean Valjean." He kisses the question from Valjean's lips and rests his head against Valjean's shoulder.

  
_You've ruined me._

  
Valjean hesitantly slips his arm around Javert, his heart pounding in his chest, and waits for him to push him away, to reject him in this. He doesn't.

  
Instead, Javert presses closer, his head on Valjean's chest, his arm hooked around his waist.

  
Pushing his luck, Valjean leans his forehead against Javert's, extremely conscious of every point of contact between the two of them; a heat rises in his chest, searing, scorching, _healing_. He shuts his eyes and focuses all his attention on Javert's heartbeat, on the way it grounds him (the way it absolutely shouldn't).

  
His fingers curling into Javert's back ask a silent, pleading question: Don't leave me?

  
Javert's response comes in the form of him reaching for and squeezing Valjean's wrist: Only if you don't leave me.


	2. Chapter 2

"Javert. Javert." Valjean's hands are steady against Javert's hunched shoulder. "Wake up, for Chr-- _wake up_ \--"

Javert starts and blinks up at Valjean. His eyes are dark, his forehead damp. His brow furrows--he grabs Valjean's wrist tightly.

"You--" he says, catches himself, shakes his head. "You," he tries again.

"Me," Valjean agrees. "It's just me, Javert." He takes Javert's hand in his own and squeezes it gently. "You were dreaming."

Javert looks through him and sighs. "I hate when that happens."

Valjean wraps his arm around Javert's shoulders. Javert hesitates before leaning against him; his heart is racing and Valjean strokes his hair absentmindedly.

"What was it this time?" Valjean asks quietly, not expecting an answer.

Javert remains silent for a few moments, working his jaw and tracing circles on the back of Valjean's hand. "It was," he starts. "The night of the barricades." His voice is hesitant, cautious.

Valjean leans his chin against the top of Javert's head. "Mmm?"

"You took me, into the alley. And you," Javert pauses, his voice soft. His meaning is clear; _you took me into the alley, and you didn't let me go._

"Ahh." Uneasiness settles into Valjean's stomach as he imagines it, imagines dragging Javert out of the cafe, imagines throwing him against the wall and, instead of slicing through the bonds at his wrists ankles, imagines cutting into Javert's throat, imagines--

_No._

He takes Javert's hand again, this time for his own benefit (definitely not to feel the pulse that beats there steady like a drum more tenacious than the man himself), and pulls him closer.

"Valjean?"

" _Ahh,_ " Valjean says again. 

Javert searches his face through the darkness. "I shouldn't have told you."

Valjean rubs Javert's hand and presses a kiss to his temple. "No, no--I'd rather you tell me than not."

The minutes pass in silence, both consumed in their own thoughts.

The image of himself killing Javert hangs heavily in Valjean's mind, no matter how hard he tries to banish it.

(hands covered in blood oh god it's everywh)

(the knife sliding through flesh like it's noth)

_Never._

Javert buries his face against Valjean's neck. Valjean, startled by the sudden intimacy, wraps both of his arms around him tightly and more than a bit possessively.

"You've had this dream before," Valjean murmurs, not a question. He's noticed Javert's thrashing and occasional muttering off and on for the past month. Javert had simply refused to speak of it when he was awoken.

"Yes."

Valjean frowns. "You didn't tell me." He doesn't mean for it to sound so petulant.

"There was never a need."

"But now?"

Javert is silent. He pulls away and looks at Valjean, taking his hands. "It scared me this time. I woke up, and you were," he says, trailing off. His face is distraught, tense, somewhat ashamed. "You were there, holding me--I got...confused."

_Oh._

Valjean swallows, shaking his head.

"Javert--you know I would _never_ \--"

"No, no, I know." Javert frowns, his brow creases. "But you could. If you really wanted to."

The words stick in Valjean like a dagger. His grip on Javert's hands tightens, then releases.

"No--Jean, I--I-- _fuck_." Javert smoothes Valjean's hair back and presses a kiss to his forehead. "I didn't, I shouldn't have, I, you know what I--fuck. I'm sorry."

"I couldn't," Valjean says quietly, looking away from Javert.

_I couldn't, I never could, I will never be able to, for God's sake, can't you_ see _that yet?_

"...I'm sorry."


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this was written at four in the morning and barely edited; this way you know it comes from the heart~

Valjean has nightmares.  
Valjean has lots of nightmares.  
Most of the time, it's only obvious if and when Javert watches his face closely. A flicker of fear here, a shadow of pain there. He rarely cries out, rarely thrashes about, rarely gives any indication of what he experiences behind the curtain of sleep.  
Sometimes, though.  
Sometimes he lashes out, sometimes he mutters, sometimes he yells. Sometimes he startles himself awake, his eyes wide and staring and looking at something that's not quite there. Sometimes he clings to Javert, and sometimes he shoves him away.  
It is only in sleep, Javert realizes, that Valjean is completely honest.  
\---  
Valjean's hands grab Javert's shirt roughly, jolting him awake. Javert starts and sits up; Valjean is still asleep and a slight frown wrinkles his features.  
Javert reaches out to touch Valjean's shoulder, to wake him, and Valjean jumps. His body is tense and coiled like a spring. He surveys Javert's face with dark, guarded, suspicious eyes; Javert realizes with a cold uneasiness that they are the eyes of a caged animal.  
"Valjean," Javert says, and the look passes from Valjean's eyes, like the tide washing out, like the night creeping away from the sunrise. The tension, however, doesn't fade from his body.  
"Javert." His eyes are still narrowed, still dark, but he doesn't flinch away when Javert touches his shoulder.  
"Relax," Javert says softly, reaching up and tracing Valjean's jaw. Valjean shifts away uncomfortably; Javert pulls back.  
"I'm fine." Valjean's voice is low and rough. His eyes look past Javert, through him and into the past. He swallows hard and pulls his knees up, guarding himself against--if not Javert, then himself. His hands tremble gently.  
Javert is persistent. He slides his arm around Valjean's shoulders; he tenses, briefly, then relaxes slightly against Javert. His shoulders shake like a leaf, like a man his size absolutely shouldn't.  
"I'm fine," Valjean says again, his voice cracking, his brow furrowing. He rubs absentmindedly at his wrists. "Just--just a dream."  
Javert takes Valjean's hands in his; his hands are large and rough and warm, like the rest of him. Valjean shudders, and Javert lets go.  
"What was it?" he asks softly, soothingly, more gently than he can ever remember himself being.  
Valjean shakes his head. "Doesn't matter." He tenses again, starts to pull away, slumps back against him. His chest heaves with a half-sob, barely contained and ragged at the edges. "I'm sorry," he breathes. "I'm sorry, I'm fine."  
Javert pulls Valjean closer, tracing shapeless patterns on his back. A strange guilt builds in his chest. Why should I feel guilty this isn't my fault but it is I just want him to be-- To be what? "Don't apologize."  
Valjean curls his fingers into Javert's shirt. He suddenly seems incredibly small, incredibly frail, every bit his age, as he buries his face against Javert's shoulder. "I'm sorry."  
"I told you, don't do that." Javert rubs Valjean's back, between his shoulderblades, trying to defuse the tension there. "Relax, it's okay, you're okay. I'm here. Breathe."  
The shuddering in Valjean's breathing gradually slows and dies away, but he still trembles occasionally, sighing and pressing even closer to Javert.  
Javert toys with the idea of asking specifics--is he supposed to want to talk about it? He's never had to deal with Valjean this distressed before, would asking him make it worse, should he want to talk through it--but Valjean interrupts his thoughts.  
"Don't ask me about it." He is peering up at Javert through the darkness. His dark eyes shine in the moonlight; the cautious, guarded look from before is all but gone, replaced with a dull sadness.  
"Okay," Javert whispers back. He is suddenly overcome with the urge to kiss Valjean until the sadness is gone. He hates himself for it.  
Still, he presses his lips to Valjean's forehead. Valjean huffs softly, a faint smile playing at his lips--then it's gone, and the sorrow is back.  
He buries his face against Javert's neck again. Javert cards his fingers through Valjean's hair.  
They spend the rest of the night, awake, in a not uncompanionable silence, as Valjean's shoulders slowly stop trembling and Javert measures the space between them in quiet breaths.


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> ohOH wow this one really got away from me

Sleep rarely comes easy for Javert; throughout his life, he has always been too busy, too focused on other things for him to rest easily, particularly when sleeping so often brought with it night terrors and cold sweats.

Now the fact that his life as he knew it is over makes no difference, and more often than not he will simply lie in bed listening to Valjean's slow breathing until the sun comes up or his body finally succumbs to exhaustion.

Valjean notices, and pretends not to, and Javert is thankful for that, at least. He is fully content to spend the night tracing Valjean's silhouette with his eyes, or counting the stars he can see through the small window. Valjean is warm and heavy and _alive_ beside him, like a breathing anchor.

One night, when Javert is preparing for bed in their shared bedroom (he had long ago given up on making excuses for not sleeping in his own bed), he feels arms wrap around his bare waist from behind. Valjean rests his head on Javert's shoulder and smiles the smile Javert is yet unsure whether he loves or hates.

"I'm not tired."

"Oh?"

"Mmm." Valjean presses his lips to Javert's neck. Javert fights the flush in his cheeks and tries to seem like he's indifferent to this. "Take a walk with me."

"A--? Valjean, it's the middle of the night." Valjean looks at him and shrugs. "Don't worry, I'll protect you."

Javert bites back a deep sigh. "No."

\---

Twenty minutes later, they are walking the streets of Paris, Valjean with his arm hooked around Javert's. He ignores Javert's protests--it's indecent, good _God_ , man, what if somebody recognizes us--and presses a kiss to his jaw whenever they round a corner.

The night is cool and the stars are bright. Valjean pulls Javert along in silence until they come to a bench on an empty street.

"Sit with me," he whispers, and his voice curls into little tendrils of white condensation. Javert sits with him, their fingers entwined, inhibitions still waiting in the back of his mind. Valjean rests his head gently against Javert's shoulder. He plays idly with Javert's hands and just talks to him, telling him a story about his Cosette--or maybe that fool she married--either way, Javert pays more attention to the rise and fall of his voice, to the way his breath curls into the night, to the way he sometimes sighs and shifts closer to Javert, his body warm and yielding.

He doesn't notice he has fallen asleep until Valjean wakes him up, a smile lighting his features.

"If my stories are that boring, Javert, I just won't bother next time," he says, grinning.

Javert forgets that they are still, in fact, in public, and kisses him none too gently. He pulls away, and Valjean's face is flushed, his lips swollen, his eyes dancing.

"Well, then again."


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> posting this to finish this all up, blah blah blah

Javert shifts in his sleep, mumbles something under his breath, and slips an arm gently around Valjean's waist. Valjean tenses, slowing his breathing; Javert mumbles again and falls silent.

His hand is warm against Valjean's hip, his breath hot against his neck. Valjean bites back a smile and presses his hand gently against Javert's.

Javert doesn't move when he laces their fingers together. The pulse beating between them is strong and steady, the tide beating against the shore.

Valjean shifts backwards, and, there--his back is brushing against Javert's chest every time the other man breathes. Valjean's breath catches in his throat, and he tries to let himself relax.

Outside, the night stretches on, cold and dark and immense, and inside, Valjean traces Javert's fingertips and presses imperceptibly closer to him.


End file.
